


Love's A Stolen Season

by katajainen



Series: Freefall [3]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: (this is like a very thick slab of smut wrapped in a very flimsy plotlike structure), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Clubbing, Dancing, Explicit Sexual Content, Flirting, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Roleplay, Secret Relationship, Sibling Incest, Some Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:55:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28610931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katajainen/pseuds/katajainen
Summary: It always begins the same: with an address and a date texted from an unknown number.What started out as a necessity has grown into a game they play for the thrill of it. Because they will get caught one day, no matter how careful they are.One day, but not tonight. Tonight they will find each other on the dance floor like any two strangers, and party like there's no tomorrow.
Relationships: Fíli/Kíli (Tolkien)
Series: Freefall [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1328162
Kudos: 9





	Love's A Stolen Season

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for my Season of Kink 2021 bingo card, prompt 'Flirting or seduction', but left unfinished for deadline reasons. Title from the 69 Eyes song 'Stolen Season'.
> 
> Part of the _Freefall_ series of stories, set about three or four years after 'A Brief Interlude In August'.
> 
> As usual, thanks to Saraste for the beta and any requisite butt-kicking!

How many bars and clubs are there in London if you visit each only once?

Quite a few, as it turns out. 

This one has only a black-painted door at the bottom of a flight of stairs, with no plaque or name painted on, just a buzzer to the side. Not quite a members only club, but one of those places you have to know is there. And Fili does.

The game had begun as it always did: with a text from an unknown number, containing only a date and an address. Fili had booked a room with the usual specs – not too far, nor too fancy, preferably without nighttime reception – and spent the remainder of the week with the nice expectant buzz of the coming night.

On the day, he’d decided to come early. This way, he can secure himself a good seat at the bar and discreetly check out people as they come in.

Turns out he’s in luck, because this time, the décor itself is worth the trip: the chandelier above the gleaming hardwood-and-brass bar gives out a pale blue light, the leather-upholstered stools shine with prim and polish, and the fainting couches fairly glow with different jewel-tones of plush velvet… in fact the whole setup seems designed for maximum dissonance with the stripped-bare basement, yet the fabulously mismatched whole is more than the sum of its parts. Even the light fixtures, Fili begins to notice after a while, are not random: their colours shift subtly and slowly from blue to green to purple and back again, making the place feel both underground and underwater at the same time, a strange post-punk fairyland.

It’s a pity that he won’t be coming here again.

The crowd slowly thickens as Fili’s glass empties. Already, the outfits and hairdos are wilder than what he’d expect from a garden-variety clubbing set, especially on a weekday night. (He’s wearing black jeans and a black sleeveless button-up, always a safe bet – and one that shows off his ink just the way his date likes it.)

He’s still sitting alone when the DJ gets behind her table, and the powerful beat of the music trembles through his ribs, his foot tapping to the rhythm on its own. Perhaps this will be one of those nights when he’s kept waiting – and if so, it would be useless to keep polishing the barstool with his arse when he could be dancing. Decision quickly made, he pushes the empty gin-and-tonic away and heads out to the floor.

A couple of songs later he’s worked up a sweat and the girl with pink hair and a fabulously clashing high-vis orange dress is laughing at his ‘rolling solo’ cover story, inviting him to sit with her friends in case he gets bored with the company. Weaving his way back to the bar, Fili tries not to be too obvious as he scans the crowd. He wants it to feel natural, a thrilling coincidence. He gets himself a pint of water and leans back against the pleasantly cool brick wall, his eyes roving over the swaying pit of the dance floor, without quite knowing what, or who he’s looking for yet.

It’s always something different, some new version of the familiar, and he can’t wait.

‘Oi, mate!’

His head whips back to the bar, where a tall drink is being pushed his way: ‘From the guy in the blue shirt.’

Fili mumbles his thanks, his attention already riveted to the man raising his glass in greeting.

Kili looks… _slick,_ with an electric blue top that must have been painted on, and shiny black trousers slung dangerously low on his hips (those Fili knows, though he had no idea when they had disappeared from his flat). His dark hair is braided up into a kind of mohawk and set with something faintly glittery. His lips, too, shimmer silvery in the shifting light.

The drink he’s bought Fili tastes sugary and potent at the same time, leaving a faint afterglow of oranges and gin. Fili lifts his eyebrows appreciatively and smiles.

That’s more than enough of an invitation. A few sauntering steps bring his brother to his end of the bar, his martini glass settling on the polished wood with a clink.

‘Hey,’ he says and leans back, propping his elbows on the brass railing. ‘Pretty nice, isn’t it?’

Fili makes a deliberate show of taking another sip. Now, he could feign indifference, but he’s not in the mood of playing hard to please. Not tonight. Besides, though he has no idea what he’s drinking, he knows he likes how the bite of gin offsets the sticky sweetness of coke and… well, whatever fruit liqueur they’ve mixed in. ‘It’s all right,’ he concedes, ‘for a first impression.’

Kili hums, his smile a crooked, impish thing, and Fili wants to taste the shape of it, but it’s not yet the time. ‘Knew it. You had the look of a guy who likes them dark and strong,’ Kili says, and Fili laughs, giving him a slow once-over.

‘Does the dark and strong have a name?’

‘Firestarter.’

‘Are you now?’ Fili quips back, and his brother bursts out in genuine giggles, caught wrong-footed for once.

‘Connor,’ he offers, rubbing at the back of his head.

‘Alan,’ says Fili, raising his glass. ‘So– what does a Connor do, besides buying Firestarters?’

This time, Kili sticks close enough to the truth. Game developer, he says, but not in a tiny shoelace budget start-up. He’s name-dropping, and Fili soon gets into the spirit of it.

Alan is someone who never had to leave Glasgow, who got lucky and landed a job at the place he first worked as a trainee. Now he’s down in London for business, and, as is plain to see, is rolling solo.

‘Move fast enough, and you’ll never get caught, eh?’ Kili’s drink is a disturbing shade of green that reflects on his eyes as he brings the glass to his mouth. Neither of them has been to this place before, and after tonight they never will. It’s a big city; of course it’s always possible that someone turns up who knows them both, but it’s unlikely.

‘I’d say that depends on the bait.’ The bait is this: whatever fancy tales he spins, however he contradicts himself, he won’t get caught, because they’re both in on the game – but no-one else is. No-one else knows he shouldn’t be flirting like this, leaning ever closer into Kili’s space to be heard above the music, getting drunk on a dark, strong, and sweet cocktail and the glimmering bruise-purple shadows framing his brother’s eyes.

Fili downs the last of his drink, pushes the glass across the bar to clink against Kili’s empty one. ‘Feel like dancing?’

‘And here I was thinking you’d never shore up the nerve.’

Fili likes to think he’s not a bad dancer, but Kili’s out of his league by miles. He dances like the beat has been poured into his bones, soaking through into muscle and skin, and Fili has never seen anyone move that hot with their clothes still on. 

Yet it’s not a solo performance, for Kili always leaves an opening for him. The step that cuts too short is a beckoning, the hand trailing down the length of his chest a summoning rite. _You could be here,_ the dance says, _you could be closer._

Kili's smile flickers and shines in the shifting strobing light, the cut of his cheekbone catches silver and green, his teeth brilliant, too sharp, too white. He's a nameless delight, an enchantment unspoken, a Fae prince who will leave Fili with a bed full of dust and dead leaves come morning.

Fili knows this, and yet he wants. He steps into the offered space, mirroring his moves to Kili’s. It’s not unlike sparring, the circles they make around each other, so close but not yet touching, the proximity simmering with the promise of heat like sun-baked asphalt. Then the music shifts, the beat dropping to a slow, hypnotic pulse overlaid by a clean and crisp keyboard melody, an electric tinkle like frozen drops of moonlight.

Kili’s hips nudge into his thigh. Once could be an accident of the crowded floor, twice is deliberate. He places one hand on Fili’s shoulder, then another. His smile is a challenge, his eyes a question: _all right?_

Fili’s hands settle on Kili’s waist, a snap of static jolting his pulse as his thumbs brush against skin beneath the skimpy-cut cloth. Their bodies slot together fluidly, easily, like a dozen times before, a hundred, or so it feels to him. Kili’s rubbing against him now, a slow, fluid roll of his hips that starts all the way down at his knees. And what he’s wearing hasn’t been cut to hide much of anything. 

A human voice joins the synth and drumbeat, a low, one-note chant that quickly multiplies, layers and layers mixed on top of each other until one man has become a chorus. Fili pulls his brother closer by his belt loops, his breath rasping sharp in his throat as they’re pressed flush together. Anyone can see what they’re doing now, if they care to look. The thought shoots a new, sharper spike of lust through him – that they can be anyone, any two strangers who met at the bar and are now turning dance into foreplay.

Kili’s stroking at Fili’s chest over his shirt, his mouth half-open with heat or exertion or desire, the tip of his tongue glistening pink-gold-yellow, a static sunset-rose. And Fili wants so much, wants to crush that bloom with his mouth, taste it between his teeth. He leans forward to be heard above the music, desperately yearning to taste the bead of sweat rolling down beneath Kili’s ear.

‘I have a room,’ he says.

‘Lead on,’ Kili grins, sharp and wolf-like. And he keeps his hand on the small of Fili’s back as they walk away from the dance floor. It feels like _Mine. My catch._ Fili shivers up the entire length of his spine at the weight of it.

‘Need a bog-stop,’ Kili says before they make it to the door. He adds something in a lower voice, but Fili can’t make out the words. As he leans closer Kili steals a kiss, quick and jarring and too brief, then backs away with a twirl of his heel. ‘Don’t go anywhere.’

It’s been weeks since the last time, nearly a month, and Fili nearly sways forward from the sudden desire to catch him, to reclaim his mouth. 

He could follow, he knows. There have been times they didn’t make it to the room – he remembers going down to his knees in cramped cubicles, with strangers’ voices echoing in the open space beyond the flimsy half-walls, and the look on Kili's face when he tried to keep quiet – or Kili's weight against his back, his cheek pressed against the cold windowpane, the city lights far down below muddled through rain like a underwater starscape. Pearls of come dribbling down the dark glass.

He's not that desperate tonight.

But it still feels like a long time before Kili returns, now with even more swagger and sway in his step. ‘I’m getting us a ride,’ he says, waving his phone, ‘but you’ve got to tell me where to.’

The uber takes a while, but Fili doesn’t mind in the slightest. Once outside the nameless black-painted door, he finally, finally takes his brother’s face between his hands, some of the shimmer rubbing off on his thumbs like the promise of faery-silver, and kisses him long and deep and hungry. He tastes faintly of tequila and bitter oranges, a grain of salt caught at the corner of his lips, a forbidden fruit even stranger than poison green margaritas.

The sky is clear for a September, the stars obscured by the city’s own sleepless, wasteful lights, but the moon is out, a gibbous trickster’s thing that's neither one phase or the other, and Kili’s arms are around him, keeping him tight and close as their mouths seek out breath and pulse, an impatient outlet for drink-happy lust.

They stop snogging to get in the car – being chucked on the curb once was enough – but Kili keeps stroking at the inside of his wrist while Fili talks of their hometown like it had happened to someone else, to distract himself from the restless tightness of his own skin, from Kili’s mouth, bright teeth biting onto pink-plump lip. (The rest may be a grand fabric of lies, but this is real, this fire in Kili’s eyes when he looks at him, this flame that will get them both burned in time. But not today. Not today.)

The reception has already closed, but that only means Fili gets the keycode wrong twice because Kili is licking his ear. Somehow, they stumble in through the front, down the hallway to snog in the elevator, then down another hallway to a door where Kili punches in the code without looking, his fingers caught in Fili’s hair, his mouth sucking a mark under his jaw.

‘I want you to fuck me,’ he says as he pushes Fili into the room, letting the door slam shut behind them. ‘I want you to fuck me so hard I can feel it after I’ve forgotten your name–’ he palms at Fili over his jeans, making him gasp– ‘though this feels so nice I think it’ll make me forget your face, too, and that’s a pity, since you’ve got such a pretty one.’ The bed catches Fili at the back of his knees just as Kili pulls open his belt, and they tumble down in a heap.

‘Alan,’ Fili says when Kili pushes up to lean on his elbows, grinning at him sharp and shark-toothed, ‘the name is Alan.’

Kili should reply to that with something snarky and dirty. Instead, he just blinks and sits up, his hands grabbing the sheets instead of Fili, and before he knows it’s happening, Fili’s breaking character, too.

‘I’m sorry, Kee, I didn’t–’ he trails off, reaching out to stroke Kili's cheek, the stubble ticklish under his fingertips. ‘It’s all right. Come back here.’ Kili lets himself be pulled down into Fili’s arms and kisses him back, slower this time, more gentle.

‘I’ll fuck you, if that’s what you want,’ Fili whispers. Their noses are touching, and he can’t really see Kili’s expression, but he feels the soft puff of breath against his mouth, the nip of teeth that comes after.

‘You better.’

‘Just the way you like it, I promise.’ Fili’s peeling Kili’s shirt up, his hands wandering blindly over warm skin: spine-knobs, rib-rungs, the smoothness turning sweat-tacky beneath the too-snug waistband of his trousers. 

His breath escapes with a hiss as Kili rocks against him, hardness to hardness. A sharp cascade of snaps – Kili makes a short noisy work of his shirt and latches onto his collarbone with a happy hum, fingers homing in on nipples, rubbing and pinching until Fili’s squirming helplessly beneath him. They’re never going to get each other naked like this, but that doesn’t stop them from trying. Kili’s fly is a button-up, and a pain to get open in the tight hot press between their bodies, but it’s worth the extra work to discover his brother has gone commando, his cock a wonderfully familiar and solid handful. Fili pulls at him slowly, the heel of his hand rubbing against his own still-trapped erection.

‘Oh fuck…’ Kili murmurs into his neck, breath hot and tingling as his hips chase Fili’s hand. ‘Oh fuck, you have no idea…’

‘Damn right I don’t. Because those are my jeans. Again.’

Kili snorts and props himself up with one hand. ‘You really want me to tell you and spoil the mystery?’ He grins lop-sidedly through kiss-swollen lips and unraveling hair, and Fili’s eyes are drawn relentlessly down the long lean expanse of his stomach beneath the rolled-up hem of his top, to the dark curls spilling from the open vee of his trousers and the hard curve of his cock half-hidden in Fili’s own fist. 

He swallows, dry-mouthed. 

‘I want you to stop stealing my clothes.’ Because he knows Kili doesn’t have a key. He hasn’t been that much of a fool.

‘You’ll get them back. Later,’ Kili replies, rolling off him. He tosses a small bottle of lube onto the bed before shimmying out of his ill-begotten trousers. ‘For starters.’ And then he’s pulling at Fili’s clothes, calling him slow and squeaking when Fili pokes at his side in retaliation. The resulting bout of wrestling ends with Kili on top again, hot and naked and gorgeous. Fili grabs roughly at his arse, holding him in place as he thrusts up, their cocks rubbing against each other sticky and sloppy and maddening.

Then his fingers brush at something he didn’t expect, something other than muscle and skin which startles a laugh out of him. ‘You’ve been wearing this the whole time, you little tart?’ He grips the base of the plug and pulls it halfway out, and Kili moans softly as he pushes it back in.

‘No– ah– only since the club.’ Kili’s eyes fall shut as Fili slowly pumps the toy in and out, his breath coming sharp and in sync with the movement. ‘Had it– mm– stashed.’ And he had to have had; the thing is quite long, beaded. Too much to hide on his person. ‘Know a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy–’

And Fili probably should think more on his brother knowing people who’re used to stashing illicit packages in club toilets, but Kili is rocking in time with his hand now, a dark flush feathering down his neck and chest. He lets out a low breathy moan as Fili wraps his free hand around both their cocks, and he knows he could come from this, just from hands and their bodies moving, but he made a promise.

Before he can get the lube, though, Kili is already squirting some directly on his cock, his fingers making a wet sound as he spreads the slick with a quick pump of his fist, a shiver stealing up Fili’s spine at the sudden coolness. He pulls the plug out, rubbing his fingertips over Kili’s hole, soft and loose and slippery.

‘It’s good– I’m good already.’ Kili catches his gaze and holds it as he lines up, eyes dark, parted lips pink and rimmed with the remnants of silvery gloss. He sinks down with a single smooth movement, letting out a long shuddering sigh as his hands find Fili’s and hold tight, pinning him in place.

‘Now let’s see if I can make you forget _my_ name,’ he murmurs and begins to move. 

This dance is a simple one, set to the slick beat of skin slapping on skin, accompanied by a medley of huffs and moans, murmured half-words of praise, Fili thrusting up as his brother plunges down, Kili pressing the flat of his palm against his own cock, the dark engorged head slipping wetly between thumb and forefinger, his body curling up on itself as if around some invisible centerpiece of pleasure.

And like back at the club, one song changes to another, but this time from slow to fast. Fili rolls them over, and Kili makes a single open-mouthed _oh_ when Fili folds his long legs over his shoulders, pushing into him hard and deep. He’s getting close, Fili knows, because he can’t stop talking.

‘Oh god, oh god– Fili, yes, oh _fuck,_ right there, yes– yes– please–’

When Fili stays _right there,_ grinding tight and shallow against that one perfect spot, Kili sobs and curses until Fili leans down to kiss him, all tongue and teeth, messy and bright. His hands dig into Fili's hair, knotting and pulling, his entire body tense like a bowstring under him, until the moment he cries out and comes undone, spilling hot and wet against Fili's stomach.

Fili almost wants to hold off his own orgasm to enjoy his brother longer like this: sticky and loose and content. Almost. Until Kili shifts under him, _squeezes_ at him with an intensity and precision that must be deliberate. A stroll becomes a forced march, then, quick and efficient to get him where he most wishes to be: driving his aching cock deep into Kili's hot twitching body, his own pleasure twisting into a coil as long as his spine, sparkling fire reaching down to his toes, winding tighter and tighter until it snaps, draining him in long shuddering bursts.

'I want a shower,' says Kili after a while, when they’re no longer panting but still sticky, curled around each other in a lovers’ knot of slotted legs and clasped hands.

‘Then we’ll have one,’ Fili says and pulls him up. ‘Unless I broke you so bad you can’t stand,’ he adds when Kili flops theatrically against him.

‘Speak for yourself.’

They spend far too long in the shower, long enough for their fingertips to wrinkle up and for the bathroom to become rain-misted, unreal, a golden-lit waterfall-cavern.

The humid air clings onto Fili's skin, droplets forming on his lashes, clouding his vision, and the foggy warmth flows heavy into his lungs as Kili kneels before him on the grey-tiled floor. He looks up to him, then, with his hands resting lightly on Fili’s hips, thumbs stroking slowly over the crests of bone where they curve closest to the skin, and Fili shivers under the simple caress, as if that dark, heated gaze, that kiss-softened, glistening mouth had wordlessly spelled his very soul closer to the surface of him.

'Please,' he whispers. 

And Kili's water-slick fingers and silver-tongued conjurer's mouth work their magic on him, blissful and relentless, until Fili, dry-mouthed and gasping, his hand caught in dark strands trailing and curling like seaweed, tells his brother to stop, _please._ His head is spinning from the steam and the heat as he lets himself be led back to bed, where Kili fucks him slowly and thoroughly until he's lying limp in the puddle of his own come, spent and shaking.

'Worth the wait?' Kili asks when he returns with a washcloth. 

Fili catches him by the wrist, pulling him down for a sleepy, sloppy kiss, because there are no words he can offer that would do better.

The room is completely dark when he wakes, though he can’t remember either of them putting out the lights; the time on his phone is 04:37, and the other pillow has already gone cold. 

Something rustles under his hand, and he switches on the bedside lamp to discover a page from the hotel pad, wrapped around what looks like a pillow mint. _I missed you,_ the note says in Kili’s cramped handwriting, and below that is an address to a hotel in Truro, Cornwall, and a date: next Friday. _Fancy a quick getaway?_ There’s no signature, only a drawing of a heart.

For several long, silent minutes Fili stares up into the dark ceiling. He enjoys the game, they both do, but it's Kili who has always railed against the necessity of it, and Fili who has kept arguing that these stolen nights are the best they’re going to get. That it’s either this or giving in to the greater lie where they are no more to each other than what common decency allows. That they were caught once, and the consequences are not worth it. That the fallout would break what they have now. _Will_ break what they have now.

Because their luck cannot hold forever, and that’s why Fili thinks he will rather enjoy their Cornish holiday.

**Author's Note:**

> Firestarter is a real cocktail, and green Margaritas exist. The club, however, is entirely fictional.


End file.
